In the Alley
by Meowbowwow
Summary: SMUT. Sherlock and John in the alley, as poor Lestrade is unaware of the things going behind his back. And the rains. And dirty talks. And wall sex. Top!Sherlock


John had been into many uncomfortable places in his life. Heck, he had been in a war in Afghanistan and the mere mention of the name left a bad taste in his mouth. He had had a fair share of cramped alleys and blasting bullets and he didn't miss them at all, thank you very much. And yet, they were as much a part of him as his morning cup of tea and Mrs Hudson's jam tarts. Perhaps, it was the absence of adrenaline and the sheer boredom or maybe it was something else that had driven him out of the flat in such a bad weather but John found himself cramped in a constricted alley with Lestrade and Sally on a day when most people in London would've preferred to stay in. Well, that's John Watson for you, always the _brave little soldier._

He made an impatient sound when his elbow scraped across the wall as they observed a group of smugglers loading statues inside a truck, leaving behind a reddish and sinister looking gash on his favourite jacket. It was so dark that he could barely see the faint outline of Lestrade in front of him and he couldn't even make out if he was even facing at him or away from him. Sally stood across the road, just in case something went wrong and there was need for back up.

Sherlock had come into the flat very excited that evening and had almost bounced off the couch to reach for John. They had found out the smugglers and Sherlock wanted to catch all of them without wasting any time, lest they escaped. John, who was more than used to Sherlock's lone chases after dangerous criminals, informed Lestrade immediately, much to Sherlock's chagrin and had to listen to the detective's continuous huffing in the cab and endure his pout (which, John would never admit, was adorable).

Things couldn't be worse, the alley was so uncomfortably drab and a funny smell surrounded them, John didn't even want to know what that alley had witnessed, certain places were best left unexplored. But Lestrade and Sherlock had agreed that this was the best place to observe from (and escape, in case things got out of hand) and they never agreed to anything ever. So, John had grudgingly taken his position between Lestrade and Sherlock.

However, soon, it started raining, thereby throwing John's things-can't-be-worse theory out of the window. It started slowly at first but then the pace changed and within a few minutes, they were soaked to their bones. John clenched his jaws because he had a feeling that they would chatter if he didn't.

The rain brought back memories, some very filthy ones at that and because he had nothing to do, John let his mind wander to fantasise about the things it had taken to fantasise about recently (_filthy, filthy brain,_ John thought, egging it on). Well, it had all begun when Sherlock had given up on the last shred of decency that was still followed in 221B - roaming around in at least your pants. It was an unspoken rule but mainly because John had underestimated the value of listing things out for the benefit of Sherlock Holmes and also because he never learnt from his mistakes, he was punished (_oh, really?_) one day for his carelessness. John had just come back home and had found Sherlock, sprawled on the sofa, one hand resting tantalisingly close to his groin and the other one casually rested on his forehead as he roamed in his mind palace. It had taken John a full 2 minutes and an hour long wanking session to recover from the shock. (_Not that it was a terribly bad shock, _John's mind supplied. _Shut up, _he retaliated)

After that, it had been hell because every time Sherlock said something, John couldn't help but wonder how that silken voice would sound when he screamed John's name, how that long and beautiful neck would feel under his tongue as John mottled it will bites and marked it as his property, how the thin and long fingers would feel inside his mouth as he sucked on them and then watched them disappear inside Sherlock as he opened himself to be fucked by John. John was also open to the idea of the feeling of Sherlock inside him, feeling him come inside John and fill him in. And Sherlock would be a tease, he would fuck him and use a butt plug to keep it in and every time John would move, it would be because of Sherlock. _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ _stop_. John realised that he was very hard. He couldn't believe that a few (ahem) thoughts about the man could have this effect on him.

_Have you no self-control, you stupid…dick, _John almost said it out loud. _Oh yes, Sherlock's dick. Inside you. Do you get me, John? And he could wrap his hands around me as he fucked you into oblivion, perhaps against the wall, or on that couch, the same couch. And every time you sit on that couch, you'd be reminded of how he stretched you out. And maybe, someday, he would even put me in his mouth, gently run his tongue along my length, along that vein that runs on my underside, wrap those gorgeous lips around my head and dip them in, teasing, lapping up and…oh god, lucky me, John. So so lucky._

_Fuck_. John palmed himself lightly, knowing that no one would notice anything in the dark. The wind was whistling now and the rain was worst, doing nothing to better John's position as he imagined Sherlock dripping wet in the shower and arching his back as John drilled into him passionately, hit his prostate again and again until Sherlock cried and begged him to stop that instant and never ever stop. John was shaken out of his revelry as he felt Sherlock shift behind him.

He stood there, arrested by the coldness and feeling guilty, thinking about cupcakes and fairies just to throw any mind readers off guard (Sherlock might read his thoughts, it won't be the first time, anyways). He felt dumb even thinking about it but he still tried to take his mind off Sherlock's gorgeous ass as he strutted about crime scenes. There was more movement behind John as he felt warm breath near his ears and froze, withdrawing his hand away from his crotch and letting them hang limply at his sides.

"Getting wild ideas, Doctor Watson?" came a silky voice from the darkness. It was so low that John was surprised that he could hear it at all. He made a startled movement but strong hands snaked over his shoulders and held him there, Sherlock's voice hissing warning in his ears. Lestrade was unaware of the strange developments that were going on behind his back (quite literally).

"What?" John whispered, turning his head to his side and finding Sherlock's face inches away from his. He gulped, unable to take his eyes away from the gentle dip on the philtrum when a soft pink tongue darted out and ran over his lower lip, going back inside a very satisfied smirk from the world's only consulting detective. John froze and a shudder ran down his spine, ending oddly around his erection that was now throbbing against the fabric of his jeans. John was sure if his penis had a mouth, it would kiss him right now in happiness and also kick him for the misery.

"Stay quiet," came Sherlock's low drone again, but this time, his ear lobe was nipped by a warm pair of lips, lips wet from the rain, tasting and sucking with barely audible moaning but having a devastating effect on all John's nerve endings. Next, they travelled to the back of John's neck and began licking it in earnest, the tip flicking and drinking in all the stray drops of rain and kissing with so much teeth that it hurt. Sherlock moved on to the side of John's neck and sucked a purple bruise there as he murmured, "Mine." John stuffed his fist inside his mouth to stop moaning as the word was stretched into many syllables and a possessive bite was planted under the earlier one.

As Sherlock straightened up to plan his new assault, Lestrade's form started drawing closer, the alley was too constricted for him to turn around but he moved a few degrees and John felt Sherlock tense, his body drawing back a little.  
"Sherlock, I don't think we're going to be able to do anything until backup arrives. It is going to be a long wait," saying which, he stood facing the front again, not moving away from them. John had barely processed anything in his bloodless brain, his mind went over and over to the new developments in the alley. Lestrade could be telling him that he put on a nice dress and heels and performed as a drag queen on weekends and John wouldn't care. Priorities, John had them.

As if on cue, John felt bony fingers snake gently towards his groin, a thin hand cupping his balls and palming his erection as he did everything to not whimper, to not rut into that hand, to not force it down his pants. Lestrade kept talking about something and Sherlock hummed a reply every now and then but John was blissfully unaware of any dialogue anyone threw at him. Yes, he was being teased, mercilessly so, but he was enjoying it. Heck, it was Sherlock-fucking-Holmes who was doing it and John cared about no criminals at that moment, unless of course they tried to take this moment away from him in which case, very bad things will happen to them.

"I think they are leaving, Sherlock," came Lestrade's voice, muffled by the wind and the ever pouring rain. Sherlock drew his phone out of his pocket and typed a message. "I have messaged you an address; go to the place with your people. You will find all of them and the boss too. I think I will stay here for a while, just to be sure." said Sherlock. Lestrade started moving towards their new position and John felt a little better, waiting for the party to clear, waiting for the _party_ to begin. _Pathetic puns, John, sheesh. _

Meanwhile, Sherlock had moved on to bigger and better things as his teasing achieved hitherto unscaled heights. His sneaky fingers travelled to the front and started undoing John's belt. John tried to protest but it only caused a small arrogant grunt of laugh from Sherlock. _Hell. _The next thing he knew, cold and wet fingers were pulling his shirt out and then feeling him up quite effectively, roaming down his ass, cupping the cheeks. A content hum followed and John didn't know who made it. He saw Lestrade sneak out of the alley, out into the wet street and Sherlock all but spun him around. The fit was too tight but the genius managed to turn the little man by a few degrees, pinning him against the wall of the alley, practically trapping him and looking jubilant.

John felt a wild jolt in his nether regions and his heart felt as if it was almost thumping out of his ears. "Sher-" his words were lost as Sherlock's mouth wolfed hungrily on his own, the man was anything but gentle and he took the lower lip and ravaged it. John moaned freely now, grinding his hips against any part of Sherlock he could reach. Sherlock continued to kiss him as he slowly pulled his pants down, leaving his erection jutting out, free at last (_victory dance_).

Sherlock's efficient fingers undid his own trousers while the other hand gently snaked between John's lips. John licked them and then sucked on them, taking all the digits in, his senses on fire. The other hand, now having undone the trousers, moved on to his butt cheeks, separating them as his fingers teased the entrance of the hole gently, circling the puckered skin and pressing his thumb against it. John whimpered with impatience as Sherlock withdrew his fingers out of John's mouth in one quick motion and his other hand from the entrance, resting them against John's chest to steady him.

Sherlock met John's eye before as he kissed him deeply, exploring his mouth, more casual this time, probing, charting, shelving every sensation, every sound he made, every taste catalogued. The kiss lasted for an eternity and yet, John was wanting for more. After a while, he felt a finger circle his entrance again. Only this time, instead of teasing, it was pushed in, slowly and then knuckle deep inside John, making him gasp and break the kiss. It had been a while since he had done this but it didn't hurt, surprisingly. It felt a little uncomfortable but that was norm- "You have lube? How on earth did you-" his inquiry was cut short by that glint in Sherlock's eyes that he reserved for certain occasions like when he was one up on an intelligent criminal or when he had insulted Mycroft successfully and reduced him to a sulking mess or when he had surprised a certain John Watson by being ready with lube coated fingers. Sherlock's lips were back on him as soon as the thought crossed his mind, brushing playfully against him, more chaste, more tender. John eased around Sherlock's fingers and started rocking against them. Sherlock slicked both their erections and the alley was filled with the sound of rains and their grunts, their cocks sliding against each other as the two men rutted in bliss. Another finger was inserted slowly and John's eyes rolled inside his head as Sherlock crooked them, just perfectly to brush his prostate, not giving enough contact, the teasing bastard.

On the third finger, John almost screamed as Sherlock gently took the swollen bundle of nerves between his fingers and squeezed them ever so slightly, gentle pressure and holy-fucking-god John could die at that moment and not regret it. His mouth was on John's, drinking in the sound of his moans and gasps. He was close and so was Sherlock, if his grunts were to be believed. "Sherlock, Close. FUCK. ME. PLEASE." John moaned and saw Sherlock's breath hitch in his throat. He begged more, knowing that it was turning Sherlock on.

Sherlock kissed him again and slowly lifted him up to cross John's leg behind his waist. He penetrated him in one fluid motion and even with the lube, even after all the wetness and preparation, John burned and moaned in sheer painful ecstasy. Sherlock banged him against the wall and John's back scraped against the bricks but he didn't care. He was cold and warm and hot with Sherlock inside him. They soon found a rhythm and Sherlock found John's prostate, hitting it again and again and again. And after what seemed like weeks, he took his erection in one hand and in a few motions, John was coming all over Sherlock's front. Sherlock pummeled into him and came in a few minutes, the orgasm pushing him over the edge with John's name on his lips, even more glorious than his fantasies.

They were breathing so hard but there was no time for post coital snuggling, not in that alley anyways. It took them a while to get their wits back but the ride back to Baker Street marked the horniest ride John had ever experienced. Sherlock sat away from him as if willing himself to not jump on John, his fingers tapping on his thighs in impatience. When they reached their destination, Sherlock swiftly got out of the cab & overpaid the cabbie. As they kissed their way up the stairs, hard and wanting again, Sherlock's phone beeped and the light reflected off his wide blown eyes as John read the message-

Criminals arrested and oh, try to be a little more subtle next time ;) - GL


End file.
